


Don't Make It Weird

by longwhitecoats



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Drunkenness, Kissing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://such-heights.dreamwidth.org/459287.html">MCU Kissing Fest 2015</a>, prompt: "Peter Quill/Rocket, drunk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Make It Weird

Peter slams the empty shot glass down on the ground, bottom up. " _Hic_. Seventeen. Your turn, furball." Peter slumps gently against the cool metal of the ship's hull, digs his fingers into the grass.  
  
"You're done, son," Rocket hisses from the other side of the bottle, which seems very far away. Also there are maybe two of Rocket. Or just one very wiggly Rocket. "You are  _toasted_. Blitzed. Pissed. What the fuck do they call it where you come from? Is any of this getting through to you?"  
  
"Nahhhh," Peter says, and hiccups again. "You're not drunk if you can still hold on to the floor." And to demonstrate his point, he flops sideways and begins pulling himself toward Rocket, digging his fingers into the ground for leverage. He gets about six inches before dropping his forehead to the earth and groaning.  
  
Little paws grasp his hair and yank his head up. Peter blinks. Dimly, he feels himself getting aroused. He's always liked having his hair pulled. "I'm fiiiiiiine. Let me sleep."  
  
"Not before you admit defeat." Rocket is grinning, which is a terrifying expression on him. "I out-drank you. Now give it up, Quill."  
  
"I don't usually give it up when I'm this plastered," Peter says blurrily, "but for you I'll make an exception. Because I like you."  
  
Rocket lets go of his hair, and he faceplants in the dirt again.   
  
"Don't make it weird, Quill," Rocket says. "This is about honor."  
  
Peter rolls over. The stars are really quite pretty. His hand brushes the bottle. "Thass fine. You can have my honor.  _Hic_. Come on and get it."  
  
Silence. Peter watches the sky spin.  
  
"You're not serious," Rocket says, softly.  
  
"Whatever, man," Peter says. "Iss not a big deal."  
  
The grass moves, and Peter suddenly feels those paws again, surprisingly light, on his cheeks. Rocket turns Peter's face so they're looking at each other. Then he leans in and--Peter guesses it's a kiss, kind of a tongue-twisting, toothy, sloppy kiss, and Peter's whole body kind of shivers.   
  
Rocket lets go. He doesn't say anything.  
  
"Thass nice," Peter says. "Good job." He reaches out a hand, meaning to pat Rocket or something, but he ends up kind of stroking down his fur instead. Rocket jumps.   
  
"Whoa," Rocket says. "Hey man, I'm not ready for that."  
  
"Cool," Peter says. "Sleepytime." And he closes his eyes.  
  
He hears Rocket sigh. "You're such a fucking tool, Quill." But he feels Rocket's body slump into his side, soft and warm, as he's falling asleep.


End file.
